


The Crosses We Bare

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Deals with killing of priests with physical abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new story in the Musketeer's saga having nothing at all to do with my other series.<br/>This reflects the same characters as in the BBC production.<br/>Someone is killing priests. The Musketeers have to find out who is behind the murders.<br/>D'Artagnan hurt/comfort as usual.<br/>There really isn't anything graphic but the way this killer goes about doing in his victims may disturb some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crosses We Bare

*Musketeer Garrison, courtyard*

D’Artagnan’s pauldron wasn’t as shiny and new as had been when he'd earned his commission against LaBarge. After multiple sparrings with both Athos and Porthos at the same time his pauldron was a bit scuffed up. Porthos was getting on his nerves about how he looked like his mother had dressed him. Gazing down at his uniform now d’Artagnan could say that his mother would have shook her head despairingly at her only son and would have sent him to bed without any supper for looking as he had.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos looked at his young protégé not certain he had heard him.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan acknowledged. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

“I was saying that Captain Treville is fit to be tied over the slayings that have happened recently all throughout Paris.”

“They’re calling whoever it is the *Cross Killer*,” Aramis supplied as he sat on the bench cleaning his muskets.

“Why?” Porthos went to stand beside the boy, flicking a finger every now and then at d’Artagnan’s pauldron only to have his hand slapped away by the boy. He grinned devilishly at the child.

“All his kills have been church related,” Athos filled in.

“He or she,” d’Artagnan clarified, are killing priests?”

“So far yes,” Aramis agreed. “What makes you think a woman is involved?”

“Just not ruling anyone out at this point,” d’Artagnan shrugged and once more slapped Porthos’s hands away from his pauldron.

“I said he was the smartest of the lot of us,” Porthos winked at the youngster. “Ain't ya glad you’re not wearing those robes after all, Aramis?”

“In this instance I am.” Aramis frowned though for there was more to it than either he or Athos told the other two.

“Oh, oh,” d’Artagnan voiced. “There’s that look.”

“What *look*?” Porthos growled.

“Aramis has a *tell*,” d’Artagnan snorted and rolled his eyes, “just like you Porthos when you cheat at cards.”

“Ha ha ha!” Aramis howled with glee. “Our youngest has your number, Porthos!”

“He’s spent enough time in our company to know all our weaknesses by now,” Athos remarked wryly. “Aramis, go ahead and fill them in since it was so obviously written on your face.”

Humming softly to himself, Aramis placed his musket down on the bench and offered up his knowledge. “All the victims have been found hanging on a huge wooden cross,” he couldn’t look into his friend's eyes so sickened was he by these dark deeds.

“Not someone I’d care to meet in a dark alley,” d’Artagnan murmured.

“Or church,” Athos added seriously.

“So is the captain sending out patrols hunting this killer?” Porthos frowned wondering if he should check with Flea to see if she’s heard anything.

“He’s cancelled our patrols for now in favor of us handling this assignment on our own.” Athos walked over to the bench and sat down beside Aramis.

“No pressure then,” d’Artagnan grinned which made the others laugh.

“Let’s go after this nutter then,” Porthos playfully pushed d’Artagnan’s back and the boy retaliated in kind. They kept that up all the way to the stables.

“Clarify for me again,” Aramis chuckled, “which pray tell is the child?” Watching the antics of his two friends made him feel lighthearted if just for a moment, considering what they were about to do.

“Oh Porthos without a doubt.” Athos knew they had to keep level heads for what lay ahead, but it was pleasing to see his brothers relaxed so.

++++

*Later, early evening on the streets of Paris*

“Another church... another death.” Aramis was pale as he watched Porthos carry the body of yet another dead priest from the cathedral. He helped his brother place the poor soul into a wagon d’Artagnan procured for them earlier.

“How many does that make now?” d’Artagnan gazed at Athos’s grim face.

“Eight and counting,” Athos retorted frowning. Running a hand down his face, he was in deep thought. “We’re missing something.”

“Yes... the killer,” Aramis snapped. Out of everyone the tole was greater for him. These could have been his fellow colleagues if his path had stayed true. Feeling a hand touching the cross he forever wore, Aramis batted it away. “What are you doing, Athos?”

“I do not feel this is the time to advertise one’s religious bent.”

“Good point,” Porthos did the same to their youngest.

“We’re not priests,” d’Artagnan stated the obvious.

“Until a motive has been discovered,” Athos remarked, “we can not assume it is just priests the killer’s after.”

“If it were just about being Catholic,” Aramis scoffed, “then the streets of Paris would be littered with wooden crosses and dead bodies.”

“The killer may not have enough wood to carry out his or her vendetta and may be targeting certain subjects,” d’Artagnan said half in jest about the killer’s lack of the necessary tools.

“You know he may be right,” Aramis glanced at Athos.

“I am?” d’Artagnan was surprised to say the least.

“You’re right on to something, lad,” Porthos agreed.

“Let’s bring the body back to the garrison and talk to Treveille.” Athos joined d’Artagnan on the wagon as his other friends took care of their horses, following closely behind them on their own mounts.

Unnoticed by any of the Musketeers, a silhouette of a lone figure shadowed their movements with avid interest. His eyes caught and held by the gleaming cross that peeked out of the boy’s shirt.

++++

*Next morning, back at the garrison*

Treville was in rare form last night,” Porthos grunted to Aramis as they both watched Athos training some raw recruits until their next orders from the captain.

“As I would be as well with a deranged maniac wandering around,” Aramis scowled. “I say, was that move legal that Athos just pulled on that poor fellow?”

“Naw,” Porthos gravelly voice deepened. “How’d you forget that’s the same maneuver I taught d’Artagnan.”

“Right,” Aramis snapped his fingers, “the Vadim affair.”

Back to the business at hand, Porthos scratched his head and glanced around the courtyard. “By the way have you seen d’Artagnan this morning?”

“Mmmmm,” Arams thought to himself. “Can’t say that I have. I’m sure he’s about somewhere.”

“We were both to go to see Father Dupre shortly to follow up on some questions the captain wanted answered.”

Worry lines creased Aramis’s handsome features. Quickly walking over to Athos he interrupted the Musketeer with a tap on the shoulder. Aramis felt he saved the new recruit from being brought low by another trick from his friend as he earnestly whispered in Athos's ear. 

Immediately calling a halt to the recruit's training, Athos sheathed his sword and joined Aramis and Porthos as all three rushed up to Captain Treville’s office.

++++

*Captain Treville’s office*

“When was the last time you four were all together?” Treville barked.

“Last night when we delivered the body to the morgue,” Athos replied bruskly not caring how his voice sounded to his captain.

“I’m just as worried as you are, Athos,” Treville thought quickly. “I can’t spare anymore men at present,” his voice gruff. “We’re spread to thin as it is in this damn manhunt!”

“I thought you had just us working the case, sir?” Aramis commented.

“I had until you brought in another body last night,” Treville tapped his fingers on his desk impatiently. “This morning I sent out another patrol.” He observed his three best soldiers hurting because they were missing their fourth. “Take as much time as you need... find d’Artagnan!”

++++

*On the streets of Paris once more*

“Porthos!” a young child of about eight years of age ran after the giant of a Musketeer, clearly all out of breath.

“Adrien, what’s wrong?” The boy was from the Court of Miracles. Perhaps Flea had news of d’Artagnan and sent this child to find him.

“Rumor says that there’s another body over at Saint-Chapelle Cathedral over on Rue Royale.”

D’Artagnan?” Athos’s heart stopped beating for a moment.

“They say it’s that of a young man and this time he’s not a priest.” Adrien was all wide eyes as he watched dawning horror grow on the Musketeer’s faces.

Giving the boy some coin, Porthos rushed Adrien off. After the child departed he turned to face his two friends. “Allons-y!”

++++

*Saint-Chapelle Cathedral*

Crossing himself before he walked inside, Aramis said a quick prayer hoping against hope that if the body inside was that of their youngest that he was still among the living.

“Sainte Marie Mere de Dieu!” Athos dropped to his knees, hands of his brothers bracing themselves on the man’s broad shoulders.

There in front of the church altar stood a wooden cross that d’Artagnan hung lifeless from. Ropes dug into his wrists, waist and ankles binding him to the beams. Blood poured down the boy’s face from a head wound along with various cuts that crisscrossed over his body. D’Artagnan had been stripped of his clothing as well and was only wearing a crude makeshift loin cloth.

“He’s mimicking the death of Jesus Christ,” Aramis was nearly in shock realizing what the killer was actually doing to his victims. “Hurry! Let’s get him down from there and pray d’Artagnan’s still alive!”

The three friends worked together as one efficient unit and had removed their young one from the cross in mere moments.

Aramis checked d’Artagnan for signs of life and was deeply grateful to God for sparing their darling boy.

“Aramis, is d’Artagnan alive?” Athos wasn’t so certain. The child had a deathly pallor to his skin.

“He lives," Aramis sighed deeply. "The boy has nine lives I tell you,” he muttered as he tried his best to wipe the blood away.

“Porthos, procure a wagon for us to take him home in,” Athos ordered roughly, keeping tears at bay until he needed to shed them later.

“Good,” Aramis agreed. “That way I can treat d’Artagnan’s injuries along the way.” Glancing over at Athos’s white face, Aramis reached out to clasp a hand on the man’s shoulder. “By the grace of our good God d’Artagnan made it through this hell!” He shook his friend out of his stupor. “D’Artagnan will need all of us when he regains consciousness.”

Gathering his scattered wits together, Athos finally became aware of his surroundings again and focused on d’Artagnan’s still form lying in Aramis’s arms.

“Give him to me.” It was a demand as much as it was an order and who was Aramis to argue the point? Relinquishing his young charge into Athos’s care, Aramis stepped outside to see if Porthos had gotten their transportation.

++++

*Garrison infirmary, next morning*

“Has Athos gotten any sleep?” Captain Treville worried that the man was on the verge of collapse having not left the youngster’s side since he was brought in late last night.

“None of us have,” Porthos added gruffly, lack of sleep evident on his dark-skinned face as well as Aramis’s who was aiding their doctor in d’Artagnan’s care.

“D’Artagnan sustained a severe concussion by a blow to the back of the head with a blunt instrument of some type,” Aramis explained to their captain and Porthos both.

“What about those cuts?” Porthos thought the boy would bleed out by the time they got him back home.

Waving his hand in the air as if the question was of no import, Aramis elaborated further. “Most were superficial with the minor exception of one deep cut on his right arm.” Aramis ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and blew out a breath. “Whoever this is they know where to make a wound bleed without being severe.”

Having heard every word, Athos's lips tightened. He had been carding his fingers through d’Artagnan’s soft hair constantly. Grounding himself as well as the boy. “I will not hold myself responsible for my actions if I am the one who finds this monster first!”

“None of us will,” Porthos growled, earning an affirming nod from Aramis as well.

All three men waited for their captain to add something to their defiance but were not really surprised when the man didn’t say a word as his eyes strayed over toward d’Artagnan.

++++

*Same day, early afternoon*

“Athos, d’Artagnan’s finally coming around.” Rene as well as several other Musketeers took turns watching over the young man. None wanted him to wake up alone after the nightmare he had just endured.

“My thanks, Rene.” Sitting beside the youngster, Athos took the boy’s hands in his own and waited for d’Artagnan to fully awaken.

“At... thos,” d’Artagnan cleared his throat and tried again. “Athos.” His eyes tracked the room until they fell on his mentor and friend. “Sorry.”

“Mon dieu! What have you to be sorry for?”

“Letting my guard down so that murderer could get the drop on me.”

“Did you see who it was?” Aramis joined them having been informed by Rene that their young one had roused.

“Yeah,” Porthos growled, “I want one minute with em’... just one.”

“I’d gladly let you have at it,” d’Artagnan said weakly, closing his eyes. “Mmmmm, so tired.”

Exchanging a worried look with Porthos, Athos stared at Aramis’s unconcerned features.

“Not surprising,” Aramis reached for another cold compress to place on d’Artagnan’s forehead. “This is completely normal when you’ve had your head bashed in along with blood loss.”

“In other words... same old story, different day,” d’Artagnan spoke softly and was pleased at the laughter his words provoked. “I do remember something before blacking out.”

“What?” Porthos leaned forward in his chair not wanting to miss a single word.

“When we fought his jacket came loose,” d’Artagnan winced as his head began to pound fiercely and he rubbed at the ache to ease it.

“Easy, lad,” Porthos whispered gently.

“Don’t rush it, d’Artagnan.” Athos squeezed the boy's hand.

“Cross... he’s got a cross tattooed above his heart.”

“So we’re definitely dealing with a man then,” Aramis mused.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Athos snapped.

“The killer could have easily been a woman with a male accomplice like d'Artagnan suggested,” Aramis gave his friend a pointed look. “We all have first hand knowledge of how that works.” He of course was referring to their past dealings with Milady and how she manipulated people to do her bidding.

“I believe I know why I was targeted this time,” d’Artagnan’s tired gaze locked with that of Athos’s. “I helped father Sebastien here at our chapel in the garrison last week.”

“Go on,” Aramis urged, a hand on the child’s shoulder.

“He had regular clothes on that day, not his usual frock. I helped him move some benches around the chapel and his shirt slipped slightly.” D’Artagnan tried to sit up, but Athos pushed him back down on the bed.

“Stay put!” Athos warned softly.

“He had that same tattoo on the very same spot as the man who attacked me!”

“Mon dieu! I can’t kill a man of the cloth!” Aramis crossed himself.

“I’d say that cloth is pretty rotten by now... stained with the blood of his poor victims,” Porthos offered with a meaningful look at Athos.

“I agree with Porthos,” Athos grunted. “Priest or not he hurt one of our own this time and I want satisfaction!”

“Be careful,” d’Artagnan warned quietly, wishing he could go with them.

“If you dare set one foot out of that bed you won’t be able to sit down for an entire week!” Athos’s voice roughed as he cupped d’Artagnan’s cheek in one hand.

“See that strand of grey hair near Athos’s temple,” Aramis brown eyes danced wickedly. “That’s from worrying about you.”

Laughing, Porthos’s own dark eyes twinkled. “Before you know it Athos will be premature grey all over.”

Folding his arms, Athos simply gave both men *the look*. It curbed any further discussion on the matter.

“Don’t blame me for that,’ d’Artagnan scoffed. “He had that before I met you all. “Probably from worrying about the two of you.”

“Just stay in that bed and rest,” Athos ordered before they departed.

++++

*Inside the chapel in the garrison*

“Father Sebastien Blanchard!” Athos called out, his voice echoing throughout the empty chapel.

Suddenly a tall, wiry looking man poked his head out from an open door. “Yes, my son?”

“I am Athos of the King’s Musketeers and we are here to place you under arrest for crimes against the citizens of Paris!”

“Non!” Father Blanchard glanced around wildly. “It was that damn boy! I should have murdered him instead of leaving him alive as a warning to you infernal Musketeers!”

The priest’s words brought a cold shiver down Athos’s spine. Drawing out his sword he gave one final warning. “Surrender or die!”

“I choose death then!” Blanchard ran away from the three soldiers.

As the men gave chase through a back door they heard a gurgling noise as they rounded a corner. They discovered Father Blanchard lying in a pool of his own blood, a dagger stabbed directly into his tattoo.

“Wonder who did em’ in?” Porthos glanced at the others.

“No one else around,” Aramis shrugged. “Ghosts perhaps?”

“Rubbish,” Porthos punched the other man in the arm.

“Saved the taxpayers a hanging,” Athos grimly smirked. “Let’s get the body to the morgue first and then inform the captain.”

Standing in the shadows, Cardinal Richelieu watched as the Musketeers took Blanchard’s body away. Earlier when he had gone to the infirmary to check on d’Artagnan’s condition, he had overheard the youngster’s words. Richelieu would not tolerate a fellow clergyman killing other priests, no matter what insane reason was behind the man’s actions. So he took matters into his own hands as usual. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

++++

*Athos’s apartments*

“Well we’ll never know now why he did it.” D’Artagnan took a sip of wine.

“As well as not knowing who killed him.” Aramis cut a slice of cheese and handed a piece to the boy.

“Gentlemen,” Athos interrupted, “I do not care about either.” He gazed fondly at their youngest who had sufficiently recovered enough so that he could leave the infirmary. “D’Artagnan’s back with us and a murderer is off the streets of Paris.”

“I’ve lost track of time,” d’Artagnan seemed puzzled. “What day is it tomorrow?”

“Sunday,” all three men chimed in at once.

Shuddering, d’Artagnan downed his glass of wine in one shot. “I don’t want to see the inside of another church anytime soon.”

“God will forgive you this time, my son,” Aramis stared into his own glass of wine.

“You’re sounding like a priest again,” Porthos scowled.

“Nearly was,” Aramis laughed bitterly.

“I don’t want to see you go down that road again,” Porthos snorted.

“Who knows what the future holds,” Aramis muttered.

“To the future then!” D’Artagnan held his glass high in a toast.

“To the future!” the others repeated after him as they clanged their glasses together in a show of brotherhood that only death could separate.

The End


End file.
